SwirlingFire: Writing

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It struck me as an unusual prompt.

However, in usual Swirly fashion thoughts came thick and fast and locked my phone keyboard at the speed I was trying to write all my firing synaptic connections and word catalytic converters into more blog post ideas.  Unfortunately the ideas hit me right in the midst of an emotionally weak wobble.

Writing has always been my refuge.  My ability to say things out loud had always evaded me since, well, for decades.  I was encouraged to start writing again whilst waiting for my Therapy counselling to commence.  I was frozen and unable to speak for many sessions.

I kept a diary as a child/teenager.

Disney style covers cradling a youngsters growing up.  Of fish fingers for tea and school bullies.  Leading into my Saturday jobs and my first real life crush on a much older man.  I was 15/16, he was a married man at least ten years older.  There was never anything inappropriate between us.  The only person I can currently recall that didn’t overstep boundaries or well, anything else the others later did.

My diary reveals conversations I had with him.  Verbatim.  Quite cringe worthy now.  I guess we all go through that stage of realising we’re moving into adolescence and “grown up feelings” for our crushes etc.

Flicking through the teenage years diaries, by now I was using ‘page a day’ styles– picking up one of the last ‘childhood’ teenage years, it stops……. Mid way through the day.

I know exactly why and the life changing moment that caused my educational and mental development into adulthood.

Months and months of pages to the back cover laid blank.

I didn’t remember exactly the moment my intellectual development had halted, when later asked in therapy, I knew I’d stopped effectively communicating.

There it was.

In my appalling handwriting, typically leaky fountain pen, too

The date and the last recorded entry

A family holiday

“Today we’re going to “xxxxxxxxxxx”

Daddy is very excited to see (this venue) after seeing it on TV.  Mum’s not fussed.  We’re going to a [famous restaurant] for early dinner to keep Mum happy and I’m going to practice my French to order our meals ….”

And ironically, that was the moment recent memories converged with my teenage self.

The silent treatment began

I learned how to punish myself.


Swirlingfire: A Posting History

@Swirlingfire, 19 November 2018

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked